Month: October 2016

At the risk of being stoned to death, the love men have for football is almost greater than the love for a woman. Lol Sorry ladies, but this is a real fact.

You know, the moment it’s soccer hour, your man may not care for your company or time. When you’re with him, you’re invisible while the match is on. He barely pays attention to what you’re saying and going on about, it is a DISTRACTION when Man Utd, chelsea, Leicester city and Arsenal is playing and Stanford bridge is heating up! He’s not thinking of you at that moment. What’s on his mind is Rooney, Mourinho and Ronaldo! Not you my dear. And while he is fixated on the tv, screaming, groaning, yelling and stamping his foot on the ground as his team battles it out on football field, it’s pretty obvious that within those 90 minutes he’s crazy in love with something else that’s not you – The match of the day!

There you are, seated beside him on the sofa trying to get him to listen to important issues concerning you, but he doesn’t seem to care. And then you see the spark in his eyes and the orgasmic surge of excitement running through him immediately his team scores a goal.
Now ladies, i can imagine you sighing and getting frustrated at that moment, as you try to comprehend why your man could find anything more fascinating and interesting than you, his bae. Hey, it’s football, baby!

Ok, let’s say your boo’s team loses the game, ladies you’ll definitely feel the loss too. What else could break a man’s heart like when his team gets beaten and can’t qualify for the next stage or win the cup?
Men love football like that, the love runs deep. It is like an addiction, an obsession, it is life, it is bae, it is a beautiful long term relationship that no lover can come between.

So I’m afraid ladies; if a brother has to choose between you and soccer…. he may choose soccer for life. *winks*

Father’s sermon against adultery and fornication vibrated through the mega phone as the congregation flipped through the pages of their Bible. Shouts of “Hallelujah”, followed suit when father proclaimed, ” Praise the living Lord”.

Dressed in the same attire, mother and I together with Junior, my little brother sat at the front pew. It was like our permanent position at church because father liked it that way. My gaze was on father; his white shirt was already soaked with sweat and at intervals, he dabs his face with a handkerchief. Everyone thought he was good looking, especially the choir ladies who would always giggle like school girls whenever he says something funny or teases them. All that just to get his attention but if only they knew the monster that lurks within the man. In public, mother was his priceless jewel and darling. But behind closed doors, she was his punching bag.

My gaze shifted to mother. Her arms were folded under her bosom as she stared at father as though she was so engrossed in the sermon. The make up she applied didn’t conceal the bags under her eyes neither did it hide the deep scars on her face. She always suffered from persistent migraines and heart aches. She was often in tears and gets rather nervous and scared whenever father showed up at home. The humiliation and abuse she receives from him was traumatic enough to get her admitted for rehab.

Those nights father gets irritated because she added much salt to the soup, he would pour the soup on her head before smashing the ceramic plate on her face. Mother had learnt not to let the tears fall immediately. Doing that would only serve to fuel father’s anger the more.
“Mum, can we just get away? We….”
“Marriage is till death do us part”, mother would always cut me off leaving me completely dazed.
Lately, she barely says a word to us but walks around the house speaking in whispers and gesticulating with her hands.
” Mummy is now mad” Junior would always say……..

“Let the choir help us with worship songs”, father’s words shook me out of my reverie. I looked up and caught him with a lopsided smile as the choir mistress climbed the stage. The short gown she wore hug tightly to her body leaving nothing to the imagination. I sighed inwardly.
* * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * *
” Tell your father we have been waiting “, mother asked almost in a whisper. I couldn’t remember the last time her voice was audible. Briskly, I walked into the church wondering why father had kept us waiting. It was almost an hour since the service came to an end.
I increased my steps as I made my way to his office. Pushing the door open, I felt a rush of blood through my body; my mind too moulded to comprehend what was going on.
Father’s moans choked the room as the choir mistress kept stroking and shovelling his member into her mouth. They were so lost in their little world and totally oblivious of my presence.
My fingers quivered in shock as hot tears came perching at the edge of my eyes. There was terror in father’s eyes when his gaze met mine. All I felt was an urge to rip off his head.

” Don’t you dare tell your mother about this Ella”. His warning got me laughing loudly in the midst of my tears.

Anna Fina studied Law at the prestigious Ebonyi State University, Abakiliki. She loves to Write.

Walking along the badly eroded road, under the extremely scorching tropical sun of the suburb in which my new mushroom university was located, i struggled to subdue the frown on my face, as i made my way to school gate wishing I had a fez cap to evade those forehead wrinkles which normally accompanies it as i stared aimlessly at just about anything occasionally taking quick glances downwards, to ensure I didn’t fall into any of those portholes(as i wouldn’t want to open my events account in campus with a howler).

From the mediocre looking structures which was seriously juxtaposed to the glamorous pictures I had earlier painted in my mind, my attention was soon shifted to the people going about their every day businesses, dressed up to date albeit a few, who were probably fellow Freshers. The Guys, most smartly dressed, looking really good on their finely trimmed beards which unfortunately wasn’t in my possession, giving me insights on what my fashion sense on the campus was going to look like, and of course the Ladies, “ahhh… those ones” well not all were exactly top notch per say. But, hitherto, I haven’t been in a situation where almost 70% of the ladies present managed to render my mind vulnerable to vain thoughts. Next stop was the admission office for my clearance, the excitement was already building up, i couldn’t wait to be certified a bonafide student of this not so great institution. . After an emphatic joust with the beast of a queue which lay in front of the admission office, defying the very principles of ‘Frowshness’ in the process, hearing the word “next!” seemed to me like the nicest word ever uttered as I dragged my pressure numbed feet paying no heed to the “krooh!, krooh!” sound my footwear was making until a ” my friend are you okay!?” from the stern looking admission officer jolted me back to order. “does here look like your father’s house? ” she further added as i stood almost at attention on what was supposed to be my legs (because I still couldn’t feel them).

The surprise I felt earlier soon turned to fear as i realised that the slight altercation was enough to rouse a colossus of a man O’ war personnel who was now coming towards us.
“Any problem ma, is this one giving problem? ” he asked with a tone which suggested he was almost praying for an affirmative answer so he could keenly proceed with the next phase which entailed pounding me to a pulp. “No it’s nothing exactly, no problem” she replied to my utter most relief. ” Tha..thank you ma” i gratefully stuttered as I watched the giant retreat to his lair from the corner of my eyes imagining what the allusion would have looked like.

Lost in thoughts as I pulled out my credentials, losing my usual smirk which came each time my near impeccable ‘A’ and ‘O level were commended, as i imagined how my five year probably bitter sweet journey to a B.Eng would play out.
#LEOIΠKS

Ebuka Umerah Leo is a Mechanical Engineering student who has a flair for writing, basically story telling. He loves cartoons and he is a music addict. You can contact him via his e-mail address ebukaumerah@gmail.com

Favourite Quote: “Start with what you have where you are, do that which you can while you can, that’s d way to success.”
Contact: bbm via D1DDB2B8 Instagram @mikeikeca, WhatsApp via +2348169754311. Facebook @ http://www.facebook.com/mikeIke
And yes I’m single!

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I’m trying hard not to go into rant mode, but i can’t hold back anymore. Best believe that the average Nigerian public vehicle driver is a punk ass! In as much as your life is in the hands of which ever deity you serve; after you’ve paid your fare and taken a seat in those death traps (Nigerian public vehicles), you may need to worry about your life again. Why?

– Four passengers on a seat meant for three butts. Everyone is crammed together like migrants on an illegal journey.
– No proper ventilation. Those windows are as stiff as hell, and I’m not talking about the heat emitted from the engine. God help you if you’re asthmatic
– The last time the tyres were changed was during the era President Obasanjo ruled Nigeria. But as long as the vehicle can still move, it is road-worthy.
– The person driving has never heard of highway code. Since he can insert the ignition key and turn the steering left and right, he is a driver.
– Who are you; a common passenger to complain or instruct him when he’s ‘flying’ on the road? What do you know about driving? Ehn?
– He cannot see the road clearly neither can he remain stable, when he is not high on certain substance.

Hours after the accident that would’ve claimed my life, O boy! I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that a sane human being could not spare a thought for the life of others. Apparently his own life is already remaining 3%…blinking red. So it is clearly of no value. But why try to waste the precious lives of other Nigerians?
Who drives a commercial vehicle with dysfunctional brakes along a major inter-state highway? Calling it a ‘risk’ would be me putting it mildly. It is someone who is on a suicide mission; a person determined to visit the grave, but would prefer to be accompanied by many!

Please take note; you should be wary of any driver who has refused to get along with anybody in his vehicle, just like the creepy elderly man behind the wheels on that fateful day. When he realised the brakes were gone and he could do nothing to bring the speeding vehicle to a halt, the vehicle forcefully hit an unlucky tricycle and it flipped over
severally; sending the poor rider flying in the air. Same crazy killer driver deliberately rammed our bus into two vehicles; they still could not bring our speeding vehicle to a stop. We had our hearts in our mouths all the while. Until he finally rammed the vehicle into a trailer.

The impact was so great; Shattered windscreen, bus squeezed like a piece of paper, everyone trapped, casualties, ambulances, siren,
sympathisers…
God saved me people! Cos..well, i am so not ready for transition.

Note: Pictures used are not those of the accident as the writer’s phone got damaged during the accident. Pictures used shows similar accidents on Nigerian Roads.

When i remember powerful women like Oprah, Queen Amina of Zaria, Fumilayo Ransome kuti; women who have left their footprint on the sand of time; saying that a woman should be allowed only in the other room is inappropriate all the way around. Now, what goes on in the other room becomes the primary role of a woman only as a wife and a mother. But as an individual, she has greater roles to play in the society. Saying that a woman belongs to the other room is a big slight to the feminine gender.

If the aforementioned powerful women who broke down societal imposed barriers were limited to the bed room and kitchen, they wouldn’t have made history! Goes to show, just like her male counterparts, a woman is equally capable and functional.

So, it’s about time we get rid of the notion that being born with a vagina automatically means that you must be confined to the kitchen and the other room. A woman should be defined as an individual not by her conjugal roles and domestic roles.

People say love is blind! That’s one of the greatest lies of all times. Love can see…and clearly for that matter. Yes love has eyes. How could I have been so blinded? How could I have been so foolish to allow my emotions to be-cloud my reasoning? I thought those goose bump on my skin when I thought about him was love. How would I have ever imagined that because we completed each other’s sentences meant that we were soul mates? Who said those rumbling noise in my tummy whenever he held me meant we were meant for each other? If I had known that love was far from being a feeling maybe I would have seen the warning lights. But no, I chose to be blinded by my own emotions, lusts I would call it. Who would have known he was a beast? A perfect deception, a chameleon. A pathological liar! Each day I curse the day I met him. I blame myself for being so stupid.

It all began on a beautiful Wednesday afternoon. We always had a brainstorming section with representatives from the different units of the organisation and there were about thirty of us. The conference room we usually had our meeting was occupied so we had to make use of an alternative meeting room which was much smaller. There I noticed him. He was well groomed, his shirt was well starched, and everything about him smelt freshness. He was handsome. Yes, he was the most handsome man in that room.

He turned to me and gave me the cutest smile ever…my crush!!! My heart skipped…I must have fainted but thankfully I was seated right behind him.
“How are you today? My name is Kennedy and yours is?” He asked. His eyes danced over my body with a smile still plastered on his face. He was handsome. I must have been tongue-tied. I barely nodded feeling stupid…” Diane” I croaked. Gosh I couldn’t believe my voice…I turned away from him feeling embarrassed.

“I noticed you were quite uncomfortable so I had to adjust my seat” He continued and extended his hands to me “By the way I’m Kennedy. I turned to him, shook him while he held on to my hands much longer than a handshake required. I pulled away gently still feeling awkward.
”I would like to have your number if you don’t mind so that we can chat sometime.” He said with a wink while I smiled for the first time after the awkward moments.

“Nice dentition” he said this time adjusting his seat beside mine.
“Thanks” I replied blushing hard. I would have turned red if I were light skinned. He handed his phone to me while I typed in my digits and handed his phone back to him.
“Thanks. Would buzz you up as soon as I can”. Thank God this briefing is over”.
“Yeah”. I said with a sigh of relief.

Days passed into weeks and weeks into months. I have never been happier. I was living in another world. A perfect world of roses, castles, exotic places. I was in love. Everything I did radiated love. He was the song I sang, I could breathe him. It was heavenly.

Kennedy was a typical description of what most women want in a man – tall, dark and handsome. He was also rich. That was an icing to the cake. He was sensitive to my needs. We went to the most exotic places, I could swear he was the most caring man I’ve ever met. We barely quarrelled and when we had misunderstandings he was the first to make up. Within three months we were already engaged. The proposal was just like a fairy tale. Everyone was happy for me. My mum especially, that I had finally gotten my own husband. I was the envy of my friends.

Two weeks to our wedding, while we were dining at Four Points I noticed his pensive mood.
“What’s the matter Prince? I have never seen you like this before. Is everything OK?” I asked pulling close to him. “You barely touched your food” I asked half concerned and irritated at the same time.
We had both been stressed due to the wedding preparations and it was his suggestion that we had a dinner at an exotic restaurant to unwind.
“I can’t do this. I thought I could….I just can’t!” I was thrown aback, confused and scared. What the hell was he talking about?
“I’m gay Diane!” He continued this time looking at me as if he was waiting for me to absorb the information he had just given to me. I was both dazed and speechless.

It all dawned on me. The day I had paid an unexpected visit at his place and stumbled on a naked guy on his bed with tissue all littered on the bed and floor while he was in the kitchen and his ridiculous explanations. The numerous cancelled dates with the excuse of his line manager needing him urgently. I opened my mouth to speak but could find no words. Tears rolled down my eyes.

“I’m sorry baby. I really thought it could work out. I thought with you things will be different. I was willing to make a fresh start…” he trailed off. I couldn’t take it anymore, I couldn’t just sit there and watch my world crumble before me, I ran like I was chased by the devil himself and then there was screeching sounds and blackout!

>Chinyelu, a graduate of the Federal University of Technology Owerri, is a Content Writer and Search Engine Optimizer (SEO) for Konga.com

I grew up with religious grandparents who did all they could to bring me and my siblings up in the way of the Lord. This included no gadgets, no plaiting of strange hairstyles, no makeup, prayers every morning and night, church every Sunday and any other day of obligation, no going out and of course, some serious whooping when you did otherwise to top it all off. I’m sure most people can relate to this, it’s the typical Nigerian way of training your kids. But I’ve always
been curious and at 9, I stole a neighbour’s Hint Magazine and digested it in a night.

My sister was also as curious as I. When my sister’s menses started, she already knew how to take care of herself. My grand mum was liberal enough to teach us sex education in fairness; however I can’t forget the fast one my sister tried playing on her.
Grand mum: I saw blood stains on the toilet seat, how did it happen?
Her: (frowning) Am I the only one in the house? Why ask me?
Grand mum: Ever heard of menstruation?
Her (still frowning and thinking): Yes, I see it at the back of my New General Mathematics textbook.
Grand mum started laughing and said that’s measuration and not menstruation.
At that point she told her to be careful with those ‘Street Uncles’ because she had the tendency to be loose. She had told me not to be those rascals who argued all day under the mango tree behind our house. Thanks to her training, I turned out to be the sex educator among my peers.

So, we got the basic home training from our grand mum on how to cook, clean and behave. She had told my sister to remain a virgin till her wedding night (It’s always the “wedding night,” won’t the two parties involved be tired and spend the rest of the night talking and analysing how the food finished and who gave the best gift? Why can’t it be the night after the wedding when things are relatively calm?)

My grand dad was always the quiet type who said nothing but complained to grand mum if we did something off like, say, forget to clean his shoes, or that his whiskey and scotch had been refrigerated.

We learnt many lessons from them, and listened to their (grand) parental lies too. In the last publication, I promised publishing the lies.
So…

My grand dad told me that oil spots on the street were little kids that got run over because they didn’t hold anyone’s hand while crossing the street. He always said it anytime I tried forming big while walking the road with him. I would succumb, but the little pretty eyes across made me feel so timid. He had also told me that replacement batteries for my toy weren’t sold in the stores. That when it stopped working, that was the end. I remember wanting him to get me those coned ice creams on our way from church and he said when the ice cream vendors were playing music; they had run out of ice cream.

The old guy said people got 10000 words per month. If one reached the limit, they couldn’t physically speak until the new month began. Anytime I was especially talkative, he would say,”careful now, I have to think you are up over 9000 by now.” That automatically shut me up. He also said the diseased bulges you’d see on trees were kids that
wandered into the woods alone and got swallowed by trees.

My grand mum wasn’t exempted. I don’t know who lied better or worse, but when I was about 4 or so, she told me if I lied, the devil would stick his pitch fork through the ground and pull me down to hell. At that time, we were in Sokoto for a conference for Knights of St. John. It was hot. I figured we must be close enough for him (the devil) to do that, I was a very honest child for a while. As kids, she convinced us that the people at the bus stops were thrown out of the cars because they misbehaved. We were perfect angels until my dad actually took us in a bus. After all, no one could throw us out of our bus.

Grandmother would tell us when we didn’t eat all our meal, “think of all the starving children in Sudan that don’t have anything on their plates to eat.” I still don’t know how eating all my food helped the children in Sudan!

Why do you get angry when people’s dream and ambition looks nothing like yours?
You want to own a car, build a duplex, get a steady means of income, get married and have 3kids before you are 30. Someone else wants to travel around the world, live in a small house beside the beach, eat 200 different dishes, learn to speak new languages, and probably fall in love. And you think you are more serious?

A guy I know bought a car. While I was congratulating him, others where tugging him and asking him why he did not buy a land? They all turned into business advisers and I couldn’t stop shaking my head. The car is what he wants, so why do you think your ‘land’ suggestion is better? Its every mallam with his kettle. This is the 21st century.

Your dream is superior to none. Everybody’s ambition is important as long as it makes them happy. Don’t try to convince or discourage anybody. Just work towards yours.
While owning a range rover is very important to you, don’t look down on someone whose priority is owning an original butterfly sewing machine.

This week’s faces of the cave.
In a few words; Surv Jeff Emmanuel is a great guy. He is one of the coolest dudes I know and his good looks is the icing on the cake! And Pretee is really down to earth, smart and she is so stunning too! Let’s take a peek into the world of these two.

Hobbies: Reaching out to humanity, Web surfing
Quote: “Attaining and surpassing that which folks thought you could never achieve is the best form of victory. Don’t ever allow people’s perspective about you kill your dreams. Listen to everyone’s advice but sieve out the chaff cos when you stand for all you will fall for anything.”

Favourite quote: “History will be kind to me for I intend to write it”—-Winston Churchill

Contact: 08064952739

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Quote of the week-
“It is better to fail in originality than to succeed in imitation.” — Herman

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Bismark Ekenedilichukwu Benson is a storyteller, a Chatterbox, Gist lover and Blogger. Between pursuing a career in the field of Engineering and managing few side jobs, Bismark does freelance writing on this blog. He shares his thoughts in real and engaging ways for your reading pleasure. It’s a juggle but thankfully, he lives to write.
I hope you enjoy every series brought to you by the chatterbox team.
What else? I'm proudly Nigerian...Igbo made!

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Bismark Ekenedilichukwu Benson is a storyteller, a Chatterbox, Gist lover and Blogger. Between pursuing a career in the field of Engineering and managing few side jobs, Bismark does freelance writing on this blog. He shares his thoughts in real and engaging ways for your reading pleasure. It’s a juggle but thankfully, he lives to write.
I hope you enjoy every series brought to you by the chatterbox team.
What else? I'm proudly Nigerian...Igbo made!